


Hallucinations

by SuperRedRobin (SweetFanfics)



Category: DCU, DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Gen, Hallucinations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-26
Updated: 2012-09-26
Packaged: 2017-11-15 02:55:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetFanfics/pseuds/SuperRedRobin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That has to be the worst part about it all. That Kon doesn’t seem to know that he’s dead. What’s worse is that, from time to time…Tim forgets as well. (Spoilers for Infinite Crisis)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hallucinations

Their ghosts haunt him. They never taunt him, strangely enough. They never yell at him or scream at him for his failure. No, they are always gentle and kind towards him.   
  


His father stands by and watches him work. Offers a pat on the shoulder for every break through and victory. A smile for every problem Tim runs into. Steph is sunny and positive just like she always was. Forever the optimist who tells him to never give up. Bart zips around, here and there and no where in particularly as he grins at Tim. Bruce is always quiet, always watching him. Not really any different from before.  
  


The only problematic hallucination, is Kon. Because Kon always talks to him. It’s like having a personal commentator for his life the way Kon tags around after him, pointing out mistakes and making quips as though his life depended on it. Kon sits beside him on the sofa and makes comments at the shows, as though he doesn't remember that he’s dead.  
  


That has to be the worst part about it all. That Kon doesn’t seem to know that he’s dead. What’s worse is that, from time to time…Tim forgets as well. And he winds up talking with his hallucination.   
  


He’ll sit hundreds of feet up in the air, perched on top of a gargoyle and talk with Kon as though he’s actually _there_. But then a cold wind will blow and remind him that he’s only been imagining the warmth on his back. Or he’ll reach out to touch Kon and meet nothing but thin air.  
  


Tim sits with his back to the wall, a shattered vase lying at his feet. Kon stands in the middle of it, looking down sadly at Tim. He’s saying something Tim doesn’t want to hear.   
  


_‘Let me go…’_  
  


A number of retorts come to mind and tongue at the whispered words. Instead, Tim digs his fingers into his hair, his scalp and whispers the same words he has whispered to himself every night. “You’re not real, you’re not here, you’re not real, you’re not here.”  
  


A soft touch ruffles his hair, making him look up with a jerk. But it’s not the hand he remembers. It’s nothing but the wind playing with his hair.


End file.
